


In a New Rhythm

by talithan



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Consent, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 04:48:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5525930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talithan/pseuds/talithan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laurent and Damen decide to have sex. And decide, and decide, and decide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a New Rhythm

**Author's Note:**

> this is for the friends who gave me prompts for some of the things they do in this story and talked Nasty stuff with me while i worked on it these last few months, as well as the friends who read over it and gave encouragement during the writing process ♥
> 
> for a while i have been wanting to write a story in which a couple explicitly negotiates consent, with a focus on boundaries and mutual respect, and modern au damen/laurent proved to be the perfect vehicle for this. when they could only have one night they wanted everything all at once, but how might it happen if they had the freedom to take their time? 
> 
> snippets were previously posted [on tumblr](http://doumekichikara.tumlr.com/tagged/marina-writes). title from an elizabeth barrett browning sonnet because i'm a fuckin sap.

Damen pushes Laurent down onto the bed and Laurent finds that, however improbably, he likes it. He likes the span of Damen's shoulders above him, the way Damen's weight compresses the mattress where his knees frame Laurent's thighs, the spread of Damen's fingers from Laurent's collar to shoulder. His boyfriend's sheer size strikes him anew from this vantage point, an old fact made novel again.

"Okay?" Damen asks.

Laurent takes the hand from his shoulder and pulls Damen down so they're chest to chest. Skin to skin. Damen's freshly showered and has the clean smell of the unscented soap he uses. His face is smooth, his breath minty. Laurent showered, too, before he came over. It felt presumptuous, the expectation of it, the places he focused on as he washed. He thinks of Damen doing the same and reminds himself that this is something they decided together.

Damen kisses him as though trying to keep him present, and it's mostly effective. He kisses his neck, and that works a little better. The warm weight of his hands feels the same way it does when they’re upright, even if they’re on his bare skin right now without the comfortable buffer his shirt usually provides. His neck, though—Damen always likes to kiss his neck, sometimes lingering there for a long time, not stopping until Laurent makes noise, which is always embarrassing but somehow also nice to share, and which Damen always receives like praise. This is familiar. This, they’ve done.

"Is it okay if I—" Damen starts, and Laurent’s answering before he gets the rest of it out.

"Where it won’t show," he says, "yes." _Please_ , he doesn’t say, but he’s sure Damen hears it anyway.

Damen’s mouth is on his collarbone, alternately gentle and insistent, and Laurent can’t help letting out the sounds he knows Damen’s after, and part of him worries it seems like a show and it _isn’t_ , he means it, he wouldn’t gasp just for Damen’s sake, but there’s something inherently performative, isn’t there, now that he’s on his back like this, Damen above him like this. He doesn’t know what else to do with his mouth. He doesn’t know where to look other than up at the ceiling. Damen sucks a mark just under his collar. His hands are on Laurent’s chest and moving down.

Laurent feels Damen's lips press to his throat once, twice, and then Damen's curls brush against his chin and he's going down, lips trailing a line down the center of his chest. His hands are on his sides. Palms flat on his skin, moving in a soothing slide, and it's _almost_ —

"Can I..."

Damen trails off on his own, Laurent realizes.

He moves a hand over his abdomen. "Is this okay?"

His fingers are just above Laurent’s belt.

"I don’t know," Laurent says.

It’s so fast. Damen’s hand is there and then it isn’t, his whole body isn’t. No, not his whole body—it takes Laurent a moment to look down, but Damen’s still right there, knees on either side of Laurent’s. He's only sat up. His palms are pressed to his own thighs.

"Do you want to stop?" Damen asks.

Laurent becomes aware that his hands are limp at his sides, dead weight at the ends of his arms. He sits up too, pulls his legs out from under Damen’s and crosses them. "I don’t know," he says again. "But," he starts, "we talked about this. We said…"

"Do you want to?"

"I do." He wants to and he doesn't. "I do want to. We talked about this."

"Right now, at this moment, do you want to have sex?"

He's searching for anger in Damen's voice and can't find it. He can feel the lingering sensation of Damen’s touch on his chest but isn’t sure when that would have happened.

"Not in general," Damen is saying. "Right now."

"Right now," Laurent says, "I want to put my shirt back on."

Damen releases a breath that sounds like relief, or maybe that's what Laurent needs it to be. He gets off the bed; the mattress bounces under Laurent in a grand exhale at the change in weight. For a moment Laurent can see him leaving the room—to the kitchen for a glass of water, to the bathroom to jerk off, to the foyer to put on shoes and a sweatshirt and leave the apartment altogether, anywhere to put a separation between him and what he wants to touch too much to stay beside but not enough to do it without permission.

Then Laurent’s shirt is in his lap, in his hands. Damen picked it up off the floor; the mattress is shifting and he’s sitting back down next to Laurent.

The fabric feels harsh and intrusive on Laurent’s skin. He wants Damen's skin on his again. He's still aroused, jarringly, and more noticeably now that he's upright. Laurent buttons his shirt and watches Damen’s hands. He's holding his own t-shirt but has made no move to put it back on. He's only looking at Laurent; Laurent searches for disappointment in Damen's expression and can't find it.

"I want to kiss you," Laurent says, "More. But I don’t want you to touch me."

"Yes," Damen says as Laurent plucks the shirt from his hands and tosses it back onto the floor. "Absolutely," as Laurent sits astride his lap and runs his hands over Damen’s chest. "Only what you want," he says between kisses, his hands flat on the bedspread.

—

Laurent pushes Damen down onto the sofa because maybe it will be different here. He tugs Damen’s shirt up over his head and Damen doesn’t try to touch Laurent's. Damen isn’t expecting anything today, and maybe that makes all the difference, Laurent thinks. Damen’s thighs are strong under his. He could take anything he wanted, if he wanted.

"You're all prickly," Laurent says against his mouth.

"Do you want me to go shave?" Damen asks, with a tone like he's teasing but an earnestness in his eyes that says he'd do it if Laurent asked. 

"Mm-mm," Laurent hums, and kisses him. 

He lets his hands wander over Damen's collarbone, the smooth skin of his shoulders, and lower, conscious all the while of how Damen's stay on his hips, gently. Ready to lift away at the barest prompting. The rasp of Damen's stubble is the closest thing to roughness in this moment; Laurent leads each kiss. It's up to him to draw away and lay back on the sofa and hook a leg around Damen to pull him down with him. 

There's the careful weight, and the simultaneous experience of being anchored down and being handled like glass. Damen cups his cheek and runs a fingertip along the shell of his ear, then bring up his other hand to trace his jaw, linger over his pulse, following the path his lips frequent. It occurs to Laurent that Damen means to avoid giving him a rash again. It occurs to him that Damen is unaware of how Laurent flushed and failed to suppress a smile every time he caught sight of his reflection that week.

"What's funny?" Damen asks in a whisper.

Like a secret, Laurent answers, "Your face."

Damen huffs at that and nuzzles that face into the hollow under Laurent's jaw, which is what Laurent wanted.

"What do you want to do?" he asks, keeping his voice low.

Damen leaves his face where it is. "I want to make you feel good." 

"This feels good," Laurent says.

"No," Damen says, his voice muffled against Laurent's neck. "I mean—really good."

"You want to make me come?" he asks, needing it said.

Damen pulls away at that. His eyes, meeting Laurent's intently, are dark. He moves his hands, resting his weight fully on his forearms where they frame Laurent's shoulders, so he hovers over Laurent like shelter.

Laurent brings his hand up to splay over Damen's neck, thumb at his chin. "What did you have in mind?"

"My hand?" Then, in one breath: "Or—if you'd—maybe my mouth? Only if you want to."

"You want to?" He flattens his palm on Damen's skin, drags it down to press against his chest. "Even if I don't do it to you?"

"I told you, I want you to feel good."

Laurent's hand is their only point of contact, Damen somehow finding room on the sofa to keep measured space between their bodies. His eyes and mouth are soft and under Laurent's palm his heart beats a wild rhythm.

"Okay," Laurent says.

Damen's lips part and Laurent can't look away from them.

"Yes?" Damen says.

Laurent reaches and brings Damen's hand to his chest, feels the warmth of it through the cotton of his shirt, feels his own heart thump in time with Damen's. "Yes."

Maybe the difference is that _Laurent_ is not expecting anything. Is not expecting Damen to have been expecting anything. Is not expecting Damen to have been expecting Laurent to have been—

Damen's hand is hovering over Laurent's chest, motionless. Over his top button.

"It's fine," Laurent tells him. "Please, I'm fine."

As he undoes the button his eyes flick up to Laurent's, casually, like he doesn't mean for them to stick, but his gaze changes when Laurent catches it, holds it. He undoes the next one without looking away but fumbles the third, and Laurent's hands fly to take care of the rest, transfixed as he watches Damen watching him. 

He should feel self-conscious. He doesn't. Somehow Damen looking at him like this feels like a covering, like he's blanketed in it. He feels safe, safer than he did with Damen kissing his chest, or maybe safer than he did looking up at the ceiling. He doesn't know what's different.

Damen doesn't want his stubble rubbing on Laurent's skin. Laurent can feel it in the way he holds himself apart, keeps his left forearm planted in the sofa cushion while his other hand wanders Laurent's torso. Laurent would tell him it was fine, but he doesn't want either of them to look away. He doesn't feel fragile as Damen's fingers trace the lines of his abdomen, but the moment does.

He opens his belt himself, the button and zipper too, all while Damen's hand runs over his stomach, his chest, up to his collar and back down again. All while he watches him watching him. Damen doesn't look away even as he sits up and scoots down the couch, hooks his fingers in the waistband of Laurent's underwear and waits for him to tilt his hips up so Damen can tug his pants and briefs halfway down his thighs all at once.

This is happening. The look on Damen's face tells Laurent he does have expectations, but not like Laurent thought. Damen has imagined this. He's imagined it a lot.

He looks away. Laurent doesn't, won't, not this time. 

His hand is on Laurent’s cock. His hand is there, and he looks up again, and Laurent almost can't bear it.

"Can I—"

"Stop asking," Laurent says. Takes a breath. "If I need you to stop I'll tell you to stop, all right? All you're doing is making me feel nervous when I'm not."

"Ah, sorry," Damen says, pressing a quick, scratchy kiss to Laurent's hip. "Won't ask."

His fingers still circled around the base of Laurent's cock, he kisses the head of it. _Kisses it_. He's going to draw this out. Laurent inhales, holds it in for a moment before letting it back out. 

Damen's mouth is so, so much slicker than his hand. Of course it is. Laurent wouldn't have thought it could feel like this, but of course it does, of course Damen's mouth on his dick is even more hot and consuming than Damen's mouth on his mouth. He's going to draw this out. He's doing things with his tongue that strike Laurent as impossible, things he can picture, mechanically, in his mind's eye, but which feel inexplicably, unrealistically good. 

Laurent's eyes are closed and he forces them open, watches Damen slide down, take him in. Damen looks up at him and Laurent thinks _my mouth is open, I'm all red, I must be all red all over_ , and Damen's lips look so good wrapped around his cock like that and that's probably something he shouldn't think but it's true, they really do. Damen looks like he'd be grinning if he could, and then his eyes close, like he wants to just feel this. 

The wet noises of it are so _vulgar_ , and so is Laurent's breathing, which he's having trouble keeping even. Damen has one hand at his hip and the other is moving over the skin made available by his open shirt and Laurent isn't sure if it's keeping him grounded or stirring him up even more. He digs his nails into his shirt cuffs where they're slipping down his palms. He wants to open his legs, wrap them around Damen's head and hold him tight between his thighs, but his waistband isn't even down to his knees. Damen's fingers pass over Laurent's nipple and he makes a sound he doesn't mean to. 

Damen pulls off for a second, his hand moving from Laurent's hip to take over, and his mouth looks so incredible it's all Laurent can do not to yank him up for a long and thorough kiss. "Feels good?"

He's not after an answer, though, going right back at it, now taking him deeper, taking him all the way in until his lips are as low as they can be. 

"Oh," Laurent gasps. "Goodness."

Damen hums. Laurent claps a hand over his mouth to contain the noise he can feel bubbling up, and then he's coming, Damen swallowing around him, his moans muffled by his hand but escaping anyway. When Damen pulls off he looks _extremely_ pleased with himself; Laurent would be irritated were he not also feeling extremely pleased with Damen.

Laurent sits up and rights his briefs, pants, belt, a couple of the buttons on his shirt. Damen’s still grinning when Laurent nudges him around to sit normally on the couch and curls up against his side.

"You really liked that," Laurent says. He’s mostly noting the look on his face, but the obvious arousal in his pants would be hard to ignore.

"You?"

"Guess," Laurent says. And then, "Touch yourself."

Damen’s expression shifts—still pleased, but less proud. More surprised. "Yeah?"

Laurent presses a kiss to his stubbly jaw, another just under his ear. "Come on, I can tell you’re about to burst."

Damen’s breathing is already altered and he hasn’t so much as moved his hands. Laurent brings his lips to Damen’s pulse, feels it flutter.

"Go on," he says.

Damen opens his jeans, tugs them down just enough, gets his right hand around his cock and his left flat against his hip. Laurent can’t decide where his eyes should be, but as Damen’s hand starts to move he can’t seem to look away.

"You loved that," Laurent says, lips at his ear. "You’d fantasized about it, hadn’t you. My cock in your mouth."

"Mmhm," Damen agrees, and it turns into a groan. 

"You like my voice." The words sound ridiculous in his head but the effect they have on Damen makes them anything but. "You liked it when you were sucking me but you like it even more right now, don’t you. Would you stop right now, if I told you to? If I said you couldn’t come?"

"Yes," he says, voice ragged. "Anything."

"Anything I say. You’ll do anything I say. Anything to make me feel good. You were so eager for it. You want to do it again, don’t you. Slow down."

Damen slows down. Laurent’s eyes travel up his body, up to watch how he hasn’t closed his eyes but isn’t looking down either, instead facing forward with an unfocused gaze. 

"You swallowed it all up. You can still taste it, can’t you. Tell me."

" _Yes_."

"Slower. You've jerked off thinking about it before, haven't you. Imagining me coming in your mouth. Next time you jerk off you'll be thinking about this, right now."

"Definitely," he says shakily. "Fuck, Laurent—"

"Look at me." He turns Damen's head, his hand along his jaw. "Keep going," he says, and traces his thumb over Damen's cupid's bow, around the corner of his mouth, down to the center of his bottom lip. 

Damen sighs and Laurent feels it on his thumb, feels it with his whole body. His eyes are refocusing, anchoring on Laurent's. Laurent can feel his breathing changing to match Damen's, quickening. He rubs his thumb across Damen's mouth like a rough kiss and Damen gasps, groans, all of him tensing, all of him beautiful. He comes and looks at Laurent the whole way through.

"Holy shit," he says, still not looking away. 

Laurent feels his lips quirking into a smile and thinks this must be just about how Damen was feeling before. He kisses Damen once, quickly, where his thumb was. Then his cheek, and just above his brow. "Feel good?"

Damen nuzzles into his neck. "Guess."

—

Before Laurent said he wanted to have sex with Damen and then realized he didn't yet, there was always a tacit understanding that everything higher than knees and lower than hips was off limits for both of them. If Laurent felt himself getting hard, he knew that he could ignore it and Damen would too. 

Then things got a little too intense while they made out and Laurent said he wanted Damen to fuck him next time, and Damen never said anything about Laurent's failure to follow through but now whenever kissing Damen gets him hard it doesn't feel like something he can ignore. He has to say _Yes, you can touch me_ or _No, you can't touch me_ , and right now he's hard, and it's getting to the point where he has to decide if they're going to do something about it.

He tugs lightly at Damen's hair to get him off his neck, meaning to say something (Stop? Suck me off?) but starting to kiss along the line of Damen's jaw instead. His fingers stay in his hair instead of pushing him away. Damen's are skating up and down Laurent's back, under his shirt. 

He kisses behind Damen's ear and his nose bumps against the shell of it, and then he has a faceful of Damen's hair as Damen presses his face to Laurent's neck again. Not kissing, though, just his cheek flush against the stretch of skin from jaw to collarbone. Laurent has to stop himself from pressing closer, pressing all of himself as close to Damen as he can be, maybe grinding against his abdomen—

"There's turkey," Damen says. Laurent feels the words vibrate against him, and the slight puffs of air over his collar.

"Wh—what?"

"Ground turkey," Damen says, "in the fridge. I could make chili."

Laurent waits until he can be sure his voice won't shake. "That takes a couple hours, right?"

"Mmm, only an hour or so if I use canned beans. We could eat around eight, eight-thirty."

"I'm not really hungry yet."

"I mean, I can start it whenever you're an hour from really hungry. Or we could do something else, I'm not married to the id—"

"Stop trying to distract me," Laurent says. 

He leans back a little, and Damen drops his hands from Laurent's back, placing them lightly on Laurent's knees instead.

"I'm not trying to distract you," and Laurent almost argues, but then he adds, "I'm trying to distract _me_."

"Oh," Laurent says. "Well. You don't have to."

Damen is visibly surprised but doesn't say anything, only looks at him. Giving him space to tell Damen what he wants, which is very sweet and considerate and makes Laurent think about kissing him a lot, but which is not at all helpful as far as Laurent figuring out what to tell him.

"If there was no reason to stop," he says carefully, "and you could just—do whatever you wanted. If whatever you wanted to do was also something I wanted to do. What would you do?"

He places his hands over the backs of Damen's, and Damen turns his over to hold Laurent's.

"I'd, um, probably take your clothes off. Kiss you more." He's looking down at their hands. "I don't know, maybe go down on you? Mostly I'd want to…" His thumb runs along the back of Laurent's knuckles; his eyes flicker up to Laurent's and back down. "I'd touch you more. Get to know the places where you like to be touched."

Laurent watches Damen wet his lower lip with his tongue. "Yeah?"

"I don't know why I'm embarrassed," Damen says, "when you're fine saying absolute filth to me, but—"

"I have a theory," Laurent says. "If you're comfortable doing something, you should be comfortable talking about it. And if you aren't comfortable talking about it, maybe you aren't actually comfortable doing it."

"I'd really like to see how many times I can make you come in a row," Damen says. "If I had you in bed for a few hours. How you'd look after the third, fourth time. The fifth."

"Ah." Laurent clears his throat, staring at Damen's mouth. "And you? Would you want..." He extracts his right hand from Damen's left and places it just above Damen's waistband. "Do you want me to—"

"Yes, absolutely," Damen says, looking up to meet his eyes. "I want everything with you."

Laurent can't help it: he laughs. He thinks _My boyfriend would never, ever make me feel unsafe and here I am waiting for him to_ , and he laughs, and he undoes Damen's belt. 

Damen says, "What's funny, asshole?" but he's pressing his lips together to keep from smiling.

"How much you like me, you absolute sap."

"Fuck off," Damen says, though he doesn't quite complete it because Laurent's hand is wrapping around him and he's exhaling sharply instead. 

"I'm not going to use my mouth," he says, to ensure they're on the same page.

"I won't ask you to," Damen says.

What is most incredible to Laurent is how easily Damen allows this, how simple it is for him to turn his pleasure over to Laurent. No leading, no guidance; he relaxes against the back of the couch and lets his hands fall to his sides. He accepts Laurent's touch with the same straightforward excitement as when he touches Laurent. 

Laurent recalls the motion of Damen's hand, mimics it. Damen's unguarded responses are encouraging but not nearly as open as they were when he was sucking Laurent's cock and Laurent wonders if he's holding back now or if he just likes sucking cock that much. He gets a groan, gets Damen's fingers grasping at the sofa cushions. 

He briefly allows himself to imagine Damen laying back like he was, himself where Damen was, but that's not—

That isn't—

He's here. 

"You can touch me," he says. Directs. 

Damen's hand immediately moves to palm him through his pants.

"Not _there_ ," Laurent says, though of course that's how Damen would take it.

"Sorry," Damen says. That hand cups his neck instead, fingertips in the hair at Laurent's nape, thumb moving over Laurent's ear; the other comes to the small of his back, over his shirt. 

He wonders if Damen feels like he might float away, and if Laurent is anchoring him now. He wonders if he seems solid to Damen even while he feels as though he is here and not here. He leans in, kisses Damen, brings himself there. 

Once Laurent starts it, Damen doesn't hold anything back. Though his hands stay where they are, his touch changes, feels both lighter and stronger somehow. Feels like _Damen_. It's Damen touching him, Damen he's touching, Damen he's kissing and being kissed by. Damen whispering his name against his lips. Damen who didn't make him do this, Damen who gives and gives and gives.

"Close?"

"Yeah. Yes, I—"

"Go on."

"It feels—You're so—"

"Not 'go on, keep talking,'" Laurent says, feeling so fond it's almost overwhelming. "I meant, 'go on and come.'"

So he does, and as he does he kisses Laurent, messy and honest. When they separate he's grinning in a way that could prove infectious. Laurent wants to have something to say and doesn't, so he reaches for a tissue (the box placed on the coffee table after last time, when Damen cleaned himself off with his own shed t-shirt) instead. At the movement Damen's hands drop down to his knees; he's leaning back into the sofa and catching his breath, still radiating contentment. 

"I need to wash my hands," Laurent says, for lack of anything more clever or romantic. 

"Can I take care of you first?" Damen asks. 

If he opens his mouth he'll say something absurdly sentimental or even laugh again, so instead he takes Damen's hand and brings it to his belt, bracing himself for efficient reciprocation. 

Rather than undoing his belt, though, Damen touches him through his pants. Anything but efficient. He kisses Laurent soft and sweet, undoes his shirt buttons, waits to open his pants until Laurent is pushing forward against his hand and sighing against his lips. He works Laurent back to the urgency he was feeling before they paused, and then further, pacing it so it rises and rises, and Laurent feels as though it may just keep building and never stop. 

He cups Damen's face and kisses him harder, messier, urgently. He can feel his shoulders shaking as he approaches the edge and then there's a hand on his back steadying him and Damen's other hand moves just slightly more quickly, and Laurent feels hot and tense and so close he could scream, but _please_ comes out as only a whisper, right into Damen's mouth.

And then it crests, and Damen is there to keep him upright. Laurent lets himself lean into Damen while his heartbeat slows to a pace that resembles its usual. He tucks his head against Damen's neck, under his jaw, and focuses on Damen's hand on his back, his own hands on Damen's shoulders.

"I'm too hungry to wait for chili," he says into Damen's collarbone. 

"Let's wash up and order takeout."

Laurent nods against him but doesn't move to get up. 

"You want me to carry you to the sink?" Damen teases, and Laurent can feel him press a kiss to the top of his head. 

"Potentially necessary when you follow through on that multiple orgasms plan," Laurent says, standing. "Not at all necessary after just the one."

"'When,'" Damen repeats. Laurent keeps walking and carefully doesn't look back at him, keeping his smile to himself.

—

Damen is so solidly built that Laurent has no qualms about putting his full weight on him. Damen could probably lift Laurent right off him one-handed if he wanted, but far from lifting him away, Damen's hands are in his open shirt, hot on his skin. The garment is still on, seeing as Laurent can't be bothered to take his hands off Damen long enough to pull his arms through the sleeves, but it certainly isn't getting in Damen's way. None of his clothing is. Damen squeezes his ass with a hand down the back of his pants, outside his briefs. Laurent gives a responding rock of his hips against Damen's stomach, and Damen groans into his lips.

Damen squeezes again. Laurent sucks on his lip. Damen's other hand moves down to his ass, so there's one on each cheek. Laurent rocks again on instinct. His pants are getting shoved down around his hips, but he'd have to get off of Damen to properly remove them.

"You can," he says, and kisses Damen instead of finishing the thought.

But Damen gets it, and pushes his underwear down to his thighs, so it's skin on skin. Damen makes a sound like a whine and Laurent kisses him harder, until Damen pulls back and says, "Can I use my mouth?"

Laurent's hips are rocking on their own. "You want to blow me?"

"Not—not there," Damen says. His eyes and cheeks are dark with excitement, but he holds Laurent's gaze. "I meant," he says, and tightens his grip just enough.

"Are you kidding me," Laurent says.

"Not as foreplay," Damen clarifies immediately. "I'm not trying to—it's not so you'll let me fuck you."

"I know," Laurent says, because it's Damen, and if he did want to fuck he'd just say so. "I just can't see what you'd get out of that."

Damen's expression, what with his hands on Laurent's bare ass and Laurent's erection pressing into his stomach, is almost comical.

"How does eating my ass do anything for you?" Laurent asks.

Damen takes a moment to answer. "I thought you might enjoy it, is all, but if—"

"But that's what _I_ would get out of it. What would _you_ get out of it?"

Damen frowns, and his eyebrows approach a meeting point. "Your enjoyment?" he offers, but seems dissatisfied with whatever reaction he reads in Laurent's expression. "Is that really so strange? I like making you feel good. And...I get the impression you've never done that with anyone, and I—well, I like the idea of—" he pauses, wets his lips—"introducing you to it."

If Laurent hadn’t already been hard, that would have done it.

"I'm sorry if I grossed you out—"

"That's not it," Laurent says. His throat feels a bit dry. "I'm—I can't believe you aren't asking me to blow you."

"You said you—"

"Something with something in it for you, I mean," Laurent interrupts, before Damen can voice whatever assumption he's made. "It's not," he starts, then tries again. "It's normal to be at least a little selfish in bed."

"Okay," Damen says, humoring him, "but if I just wanted to get off, I could do that by myself...?" He laughs. "I _do_ do that by myself. The whole point of doing stuff together is that it isn't about me. I get to, y'know—" He lifts his right hand as though to gesture with it, and seems to only then realize that his hands have been on Laurent's ass this whole time. He rapidly moves his left to the small of Laurent's back.

Laurent grins. "For someone asking to eat my ass, you sure are being awfully dainty about it."

"Shut up," Damen says, and gropes his ass again as though to prove he can.

Laurent kisses him, which isn’t what he asked for but does serve the desired purpose. Damen's tongue strokes along his, and he feels his arms pulled briefly up towards the headboard as Damen dispenses with his shirt. His skin tingles and his head goes fuzzy as Damen traces the roof of his mouth with his tongue.

"I like your mouth," Laurent says when they separate.

"I—what?"

"I like your mouth," he repeats, "and you're—good with it."

Damen smiles, and the unassuming pride makes Laurent want to kiss him some more.

Instead, he says, "Should I lie on my stomach, then?"

"You’re—you’re serious?" Damen sits up as Laurent does. "Really?"

Laurent’s already tugging his pants and briefs down his ankles. "Aren’t I always?"

"Well, no," Damen says. Then, "Wow."

This time Laurent can’t help himself and does kiss him. He might not want to once it’s been on his ass, he reasons. He’d better get all the kissing out of the way beforehand.

"However you’re comfortable," Damen says.

Laurent’s mind is hazy. "What?"

"On your stomach or on your back, whatever’s more comfortable for you." A pause, and then he adds, "You could even sit on my face, if you want."

"I—" He feels out of breath, suddenly. "Back, I think. Maybe—maybe next time." 

Damen spends a long time getting Laurent arranged, making sure he's comfortably situated. It strikes Laurent as vaguely absurd, though he suspects it shouldn't. By the end of it he’s leaning back on Damen’s ergonomic neck pillow with two more pillows under his lower back, angling him up. Damen sits low between his legs, Laurent’s knees hooked over his shoulders. 

It’s a lot for Laurent to look at, so he keeps his face toward the ceiling and closes his eyes. "Go wild," he says.

Damen, being Damen, starts slow anyway, pressing a line of kisses from the head of his cock to the base, the crease of his thigh, his lips soft and closed. Then open, and Laurent can feel his tongue, and all Laurent can think is that Damen _wants to do this_ , asked to do it, and seems enthusiastic as he does it, but this is _backwards_. This isn't something anyone asks to do. 

But without Laurent ever telling him to do it, Damen's mouth is on his cock. Eagerly, unhurriedly, making these small contented noises, as his hands smooth over Laurent's chest and thighs and stomach, like his whole body's whole purpose is to make Laurent feel good. 

Damen mouths at his balls, and a finger of the hand that isn't steady on his chest presses flat on his hole. Laurent lets out a breath, harsh and heavy, and then Damen's lips are where that finger was, kissing the same way he kisses Laurent's mouth, with a few short presses of just lips before he opens his mouth a little, makes it wetter. 

Laurent's hands fist in the pillows under his hips and he tilts a little further into Damen's mouth, leveraging with his heels on Damen's back. For some unfathomable reason, Damen takes this to mean he should _stop_.

Laurent opens his eyes, looks down at him. "Don't—"

"I'm not," Damen says. "I just—you can hold my head, if you want to. I don't mind."

Laurent stares. Damen thumbs at his nipple and gets back to what he was doing, his face disappearing between Laurent's legs. The hand on his chest moves to grip his cock loosely, his other firm on his thigh, and his tongue—it's weird, and wet, and Damen wants to do this, and Laurent does like it. Damen's mouth is on his asshole and it feels good, and Damen asked if he could do this for him. 

Laurent bites his lip, counts 1-2-3-4 as he breathes in through his nose, and again as he breathes out. With his left hand, he reaches for his thigh, the one Damen isn't holding, and holds it up and open for him. With his right, he reaches, testingly, for Damen's head, weaving his fingers gently in his hair. 

Damen groans. He groans with his tongue on Laurent's hole, and Laurent writhes under him. Damen holds him harder, starts to move his hand on his cock in a slow rhythm, works his hole open enough that his tongue can fuck into him. 

Laurent's lips feel raw. He tightens his grip in Damen's hair. "Yes," he gasps, through parted lips. "Yes," over and over, with Damen humming against him in response. 

Laurent comes hard, shaking with it, his head rolling back on the pillow, eyes squeezing shut. The world blurs for a moment or two, until Laurent becomes aware that Damen's lips and tongue are on him again. His chest, now. He's—he's licking up Laurent's come. _Goodness_.

"See, I was right," Damen is saying. "You enjoyed it."

Laurent tugs a pillow from under his ass and smacks Damen in the face with it. 

Damen rises up on his hands and knees over Laurent and beams down at him, _beams_ , radiating delight at having stuck his tongue in Laurent's ass. Laurent reaches down to touch him through his boxers.

" _You_ enjoyed it," he says. "You really enjoyed it. You're so weird," he says, though his hand on Damen's erection undoubtedly cushions the judgement in it. 

"It was hot," Damen says, not embarrassed in the slightest. "You're really hot."

Laurent thinks about saying it right back to him. Instead, he knocks Damen sideways and pushes him flat on his back. And Damen goes, even though it would be so easy for him to keep himself on top. He goes, and he holds himself still in anticipation, motionless save for the heavy rise and fall of his chest. Laurent sits astride Damen's thigh ( _You could even sit on my face_ ) and touches his abdomen and watches him wait. 

"Keep talking," Laurent says. "Only—don't tell me what to do. But talk to me."

"You look—" Damen starts, but when Laurent tugs down the waist of his boxers he stops. 

"Tell me," Laurent says. "Tell me how I look."

"Amazing," Damen says, his voice shaking just a little as Laurent closes his hand around him. "You always look amazing, you're so beautiful, and after you come it's like…"

When he stops, so does Laurent's hand; Damen quickly catches on. 

"You're more relaxed and—looser, I guess, less tense, and kind of. Flushed. And it looks good on you, you look so good, and it's so good knowing I did that, that you let me do that, that I could make you feel that way. Not _make_ you, but—that I could do that for you."

"Do what for me?"

"Get you off," Damen says. "Give you that."

"And how'd you do that?" 

Damen groans, either because of Laurent's teasing or because of what Laurent just did with his thumb. "You let me rim," he says. "Or, ah, as you put it, eat your ass—"

"You liked it," Laurent says. "Fucking me with your tongue." He leans forward, his free hand on Damen's chest.

"Loved it, God. I could spend hours with my head between your legs, rimming you, sucking you, oh, getting you off and then getting you hard again. Feel your legs wrapped around me—ah, fuck, you holding me down, keeping me there, wanting it—"

"You like when I like it."

"I like when you always—I always—I want you to like everything. To do things you like, only. Feel so good, too good—"

"This?" Laurent repeats the motion of his hand. 

"No, I," Damen starts, "yes, yes, but I—you, I want you to feel—I want to see you come apart, melt, get you screaming—fuck, I'm so close, please don't stop."

Laurent leans closer over him. "Keep talking and I won't."

"Please, Laurent, I…"

Laurent releases him and he curves up off the mattress, but he keeps his hands where they are, one on Laurent's knee and the other fisted in the sheets. Laurent presses him down with both hands on his chest. "Tell me what you want."

Damen could take it so easily, take anything, but he always asks. Always waits. He breathes in, out, and says, "Want to feel this. What you give me."

Laurent brings his hand down again, and with his other he experimentally digs his nails into Damen's chest. Damen's hand flies from Laurent's knee to press Laurent's fingers down harder.

"Feels good," he says. "Everything you—Laurent—" His next words come out quickly, as though he's afraid if he slows down he'll lose them altogether. "Being with you—it fucking blows my mind I get to—it's real, you're really with me, touching me and I get to touch you and you want me t—" and his voice catches, his mouth open in a silent shout. 

The sight of him coming is so incredibly erotic that Laurent feels himself flushing all over as he takes it in: Damen's body arching, his hands clenching, his thick cock pulsing in Laurent's hand. He seems to turn to liquid once it's over, dropping languidly into the mattress. This looks good on him, too; Laurent can see what he means.

Laurent is so absorbed in looking at him that it takes longer than it should for him to note the way Damen is looking back.

"Something wrong?" Laurent asks. 

"Not even a little," Damen says. "I'm just wondering if you'd like another."

He's hard again and he barely noticed. And fuck, just from watching. Damen only just came and he wants to get Laurent off again.

"Well," Laurent says, "since you keep bringing it up," and Damen grins wide.

—

The thing is, sex is absolutely ridiculous. Ridiculous in concept and even more so in execution. Laurent has never had an excess of idle time, but somehow even without any of it to spare he's fooling around with Damen almost every day now, and objectively, this is so strikingly useless he can't believe he's actually doing it.

There are so many useful things he could be doing. Things either of them could be doing. Instead they're rutting against each other through their pants and sticking their tongues in each other's mouths. Laurent is thinking about all the incredible— _ridiculous_ —things Damen can do with that tongue of his and wondering if it would be worth it to stop what they're doing and get Damen's pants off and also internally laughing at himself for having thoughts like this at all. 

But it feels good, and Damen loves it, and it's not as though any of the things he could be doing are _urgent_. Not urgent like this pressure building inside him.

Damen kisses his jaw, the hollow under it, and asks, "Can I go down on you?"

"Back or front?"

It's supposed to be a joke, but Damen pulls back a little and answers earnestly, face flushed dark. "Anything you want. You know that."

Laurent's chest feels like something is overflowing inside it. _Ridiculous_. 

"Let's do something different today," he says. Then, "Pants off."

Damen pulls back further, sits back on his heels to give Laurent room, but Laurent just tilts his hips expectantly. There's something appealing in having Damen undress him instead of doing it himself. Maybe the way Damen always seems to consider it a privilege. Damen has seen all of him already and still looks at his body like a revelation.

And that—that's what isn't ridiculous at all. Damen _is_ his body, every part of him connected. Laurent isn't, not by nature, but Damen makes him feel like he is. Makes him want to be. Makes that connection feel possible and positive.

Having undressed Laurent, Damen has undone the button of his jeans but is hesitating with the zipper. When Laurent catches his gaze, he asks, "Underwear?"

"Yes," Laurent says. "I mean—no. I mean, off."

Damen complies, pulling his jeans and boxers off in one go, and Laurent abruptly realizes he hasn't seen Damen completely naked until this moment. His thighs are—Well. If this is how Damen feels when he looks at Laurent, then Laurent understands that expression of his now. 

For a moment they only look at each other, Damen kneeling there with Laurent's legs framing his hips, draped over those unbelievable thighs. If Damen's a sap, what does that make Laurent? He grabs Damen's hand and tugs him down to where he was before. Their bodies align, Damen's forearms planted on either side of Laurent to keep his weight away, one of Laurent's legs hooked around one of Damen's to bring their hips together. There's so much skin; they're so _naked_. Laurent's body moves as though on instinct as he looks at Damen looking at him. 

He touches Damen's cheek, brushes his thumb over Damen's mouth. "I have an idea," he says, "if you want to try it."

Damen drops his head low, leaving only centimeters between them. "You should probably tell me what it is first."

"Fuck my thighs?"

In place of an answer, Damen kisses him hard; Laurent's jostled hand fists in his hair and his teeth scrape against Damen's lip first on accident and then on purpose, and this is absurd, they're absurd—

"You mean it," Damen says, and it's not a question. "You mean it, you're unbelievable," he says, and separates from Laurent.

Laurent isn't sure what to do with himself. It isn't the familiar tension but the near-foreign one that comes with excitement. It's silly to stare at Damen's cock (he's seen it before, held it) but he does it anyway. Damen is sitting up, leaning over, his body stretching as he reaches for the box at the bottom shelf of the bedside table. Laurent touches his hip just because he can. 

"Do you want me to wear a condom?" Damen asks. 

They've never used anything in the box; Laurent only knows what's in it because he's snooped around in Damen's stuff. He assumed Damen was just getting lube. "Why would we need one?"

"Easier cleanup."

"Oh." Laurent considers this. Stares at Damen's cock some more. "You don't ha—it's, uh. No. Don't wear one."

He can tell Damen's smiling before he looks up to see it. Lube retrieved, Damen is upright again, and opening the cap. Laurent's skin is tingling like it does if he spends too much time in the sun. 

"How should I..." Laurent starts, and trails off. 

"Can you, um. On your side. Your left side, like this."

He moves to Laurent's right, moves behind him. Then his hand is between Laurent's legs, making everything slick. Laurent pulls his lips between his teeth. Damen lowers himself onto the mattress, moves flush against Laurent's back, wraps his left arm around Laurent, under him, his hand steady on Laurent's chest. He presses a kiss to Laurent's shoulder, another to his neck. 

"I know you'll tell me not to ask, so I'm not going to ask," Damen says, his right hand on Laurent's hip; Laurent can feel that it's still a bit slippery. "But if you don't like it, tell me, okay?"

He places his hand over Damen's on his chest and pushes back, into Damen's hips, feels Damen hard against his ass, slicked up but not in place yet. Damen groans into his shoulder and Laurent arches his neck until Damen brings his mouth there, brings it to the sensitive spots he knows so well. 

Laurent moans openly, squeezes Damen's hand, pushes back more insistently. _Performance_ , he thinks—but nothing about it is false, and why shouldn't he communicate this to Damen with his body as with his words? Isn't this the point, for them to show each other?

Damen's cock slides between his legs. 

Laurent keeps his lips apart, allowing any sounds Damen coaxes from him. He keeps his hand on Damen's and clutches the pillow under his head with his other. Damen's hips move in only the smallest shifts as he continues kissing Laurent's neck and begins running his free hand over Laurent's side, abdomen, outer thigh. He avoids Laurent's erection and Laurent is thankful for that as he tries to ground himself.

He didn't know it could be this way. He should feel trapped, Damen behind him like this, holding him tight and close like this, but he isn't being pressed down into the mattress. His hands are his to use. Even as Damen's pace starts to quicken, he keeps touching Laurent in ways that feel like burning. Laurent hooks one ankle behind the other to keep his legs together and lets himself imagine Damen inside, just for a moment, but this is good too, more than he thought it would be, the sensation just as nice as Damen's mouth and fingers on the sensitive skin between his legs, maybe better. 

Damen's mouth is open, pressed to Laurent's skin, and Laurent may not be able to see his face but he knows the expression that comes with groans like these. He squeezes the inner muscles of his thighs tight together and Damen cries out, holds him harder. He does it again and Damen starts to jerk him off with nothing of his usual teasing carefulness. 

Laurent reaches back and runs his fingers through Damen's curls, cups the back of his neck, holds him close as he moans inarticulately into Laurent. He squeezes, squeezes again, feels Damen falter, feels him tremble and come apart. 

Damen keeps his arms around Laurent as he catches his breath, only loosening his hold once he's steady. "Sorry," he says, "I meant to—"

He brings his hand back to Laurent's erection and Laurent brushes it away. He cranes his neck, guides Damen's mouth to his, kisses him slowly as he contemplates the mess between his legs. He's not sure how he feels about it. Or rather, he likes it, and he's not sure how he feels about liking it. He's not sure how he feels about wanting to ask Damen to go down on him after all, or if Damen would even still want to now that there's all that lube and come down there. 

But he is sure about Damen. He's sure how he feels. 

"Eat me out," he says against Damen's mouth.

"Fuck," Damen says. "Holy hell. Yes."

Damen kisses his lips again, his shoulder blade, scoots down the mattress. Pushes Laurent's right thigh forward, up, and spreads him open with his hands. He doesn't waste any time getting him used to it, just goes right at it with enthusiasm, and Laurent smiles into the pillow. Utterly ridiculous, both of them.

Once Damen has him pushing back against his face and moaning into the pillow, he reaches up between Laurent's legs and takes him all the way there with sure strokes. Afterwards, Laurent flops onto his back and nearly knocks into Damen's skull with his shin, but he can't really be expected to keep track of his limbs right now, can he. 

Damen crawls up the bed to lie on his side next to Laurent, propped up on his elbow. "You look so..." he says, and doesn't finish.

Damen does too. "I feel so," Laurent says. "And you?"

"Goddamn incredible."

Laurent would probably blush at that, were he not already flushed and warm all over. He feels downright wanton, which is a silly word but undeniably suited to this moment, lying here with his come on his stomach and Damen's on his thighs. Damen was licking his ass; Laurent had asked him to.

"Do you want to shower?" Damen asks.

"I don't think my legs work," he says, and lets his eyes fall shut. "You'll have to carry me. Ah, but then you'd have to deposit me at the bottom of the tub and let it spray my prone body from a distance. A shame you're too big to come in with me."

"I could run a bath."

"Also more appealing if we could both fit. It's fine, I'll take one once I can stand."

"Mm, okay. I'll go ahead and go first."

Laurent's arms are working just fine. He opens his eyes and looks at Damen and presses his thumb to Damen's lips. His wet, swollen lips. The look on Damen's face is exactly how Laurent feels. 

Damen kisses back, holds his gaze. "Goddamn incredible," he says again, softly.

Laurent traces up the bridge of his nose, over his brow, down his cheekbone. "Take your shower," he says, and Damen smiles.

—

Laurent waits until the last plate has been dried and put away before backing up against the counter and tugging Damen in close. He likes when Damen leans in first, as if he's so hungry for Laurent that he can't help himself, but he also likes how excited Damen gets when Laurent initiates things. He pulls Damen in with a hand on the back of his neck.

Sex tonight is as good as scheduled: it's Saturday, Laurent is staying over, they have the apartment to themselves, and neither has raised a single other suggestion of what to do after dinner. Even so, there's a surprised delight about Damen as he steps in closer and returns the kiss. Laurent has wondered whether this will eventually become routine and lose its shine, but now he wonders whether he was wrong in thinking the excitement has anything to do with novelty. 

Damen places his palms on the counter on either side of Laurent, not touching him, only framing him with his arms. Their mouths, Laurent's hand on Damen's neck, and now Laurent's other hand on Damen's chest, slow, easy. Damen is so good with his mouth. Laurent's lips are still feeling a residual tingle from the spices Damen used to make their dinner, and Damen's kisses magnify the effect. 

Laurent presses closer, chest to chest, hands on Damen's back. He has to crane his neck up to reach; this is easier when they're sitting, or horizontal. Damen adjusts, bending his knees and arching down, and once Laurent rises up a bit on his toes they're roughly level. He's so large. Laurent objectively isn't even short, but Damen is just so large. 

Apparently sharing his frustration, Damen hoists him up onto the counter, easily raising Laurent to his own height. Better. Damen's touching his hips, his back, and up here on the counter Laurent can open his legs and pull Damen in even closer. He's so large, and so good with his mouth. And his hands. And, oh, his whole body.

He cups Damen's jaw and guides the next kiss, deep, languid. He presses his lips along Damen's jaw, to his neck, one hand sliding into the neck of his shirt to skim over the skin of his back. 

Damen's lips brush against his ear, and then Laurent hears, "Bedroom?"

"Definitely." 

He releases his hold on Damen, bringing his palms to the counter with the intention of pushing off and down, only to have to clutch at Damen again as his balance lurches. Damen is standing with his arms around Laurent, and Laurent's legs are around his waist, but he's not on the counter anymore because Damen is holding him up on his own. He's just—standing there, holding Laurent's entire body weight.

"You're holding me up? You're holding me up. What in the world—"

"Well, we're moving things out of the kitchen," Damen says, and he's walking, he's physically carrying Laurent to the bedroom like this, _goodness_ , "and I didn't want to let go of you."

"You don't have to," Laurent says. "I'm—You're carrying me. I can't believe this."

He curves in, his cheek against Damen's neck. He feels like he's floating and this isn't even a sappy thing to be thinking because Damen is literally holding him up off the ground. 

"This isn't remotely strenuous for you, is it. If you bench pressed me how many reps could you do? Don't answer that, it's ridiculous. Why do you ever wear shirts, you should never wear shirts."

Damen presses a kiss to the side of his neck; Laurent pulls back and catches his mouth. One hand is on Damen's bicep, pushing up at his sleeve, and the other is halfway down the back of his shirt. Damen shifts Laurent in his arms and Laurent hears the door creak and realizes Damen's supporting him one-armed so he can open the door, flip the light switch—and back to both arms, as he kicks the door shut behind them. 

"I can't believe this," Laurent says again between kisses. "You're unbelievable."

"You," Damen says, and kisses him some more. 

"How have we not bumped into any furniture."

"I live here," Damen says. "I know where my furniture is."

"And yet you seem to have misplaced your bed, or we'd be in it by now."

"Mm, what's the hurry?"

Laurent presses emphatically into Damen's stomach. "This, first of all. And I don't know how I'm supposed to get you naked like this."

"You're innovative," Damen says, lips at Laurent's jaw. "You'll figure something out."

"I really think if you want to take off my pants you're going to have to put me down." He squeezes his thighs around Damen for emphasis. "Or rather, if you want to do anything other than upright dry-humping you're going to have to put me down."

"The prospect does have a certain charm to it," Damen says. "All right, all right, putting you down…"

Any illusions Laurent might have had about even partially supporting himself are dispelled as he unwraps his arms and legs from around Damen and doesn't fall, not until Damen gently deposits him on the mattress. Laurent rises up on his elbows and looks at Damen, standing at the foot of the bed in his satisfyingly rumpled t-shirt. 

"Okay, strip," Laurent says, and doesn't make himself do anything but openly watch as Damen tugs the t-shirt off over his head, pulls his jeans and boxers down together, and steps right out of them. 

Damen is _so large_.

"And you?" Laurent hears.

"And me," he says. 

The view is less overwhelming once Damen leans down from his full height to attend to Laurent's buttons and belt. With their hands on each other they get somewhat sidetracked, but after several stops and starts Laurent is naked too, Damen above him. 

"Come here," Laurent whispers, pulling Damen down close. 

Damen kisses his cheek on the way to his neck, lingers there. He's keeping most of his weight off Laurent, leaning to his left so his right hand can touch freely. He can touch Damen too, no shirt in the way now. Laurent is naked, they're both naked, very naked, but Damen is giving him attention everywhere save for his cock. He kisses over his collar, hand warm on the inside of his thigh, and back up to kiss his lips, his jaw, his ear. 

Damen's fingers press between his legs, casually, without insistence. The touch is not unfamiliar. The heat of Damen's breath is matched in Laurent.

He tightens his own fingers on Damen's shoulder. "Are you going to, ah…" He shifts his hips.

"Finger you?" Damen asks, separating enough to make eye contact. "No, I was just…"

"Teasing."

Damen's gaze is steady. "Do you want me to?"

Laurent thinks about his tongue, his dick between Laurent's legs, his hands on Laurent's body. He tries to imagine that particular kind of friction. Damen is good at making Laurent come; he probably knows how to make it feel good. Damen moves his hand away.

Laurent catches it and brings it right back.

"I could rim you first," Damen says.

"No," Laurent says, "stay up here so I can kiss you."

Damen does, and Laurent does. 

"Would you ever kiss me after?" Damen asks. 

"I don't know." A kiss. "Probably." Another. "Assuming you keep doing it," and another, "and I keep wanting to kiss you, one of these days I'm going to."

"You like when I do it," Damen says. His fingers press, outside.

"Lube," Laurent says. 

The loss of contact, even temporary, has Laurent itching to arch forward, stay close. He moves so that his leg is flush with Damen's thigh, skin to skin from Damen's knee to hip. Damen is a different kind of careful now, a kind that allows him to push Laurent's legs apart himself and know that Laurent will be okay with it. Laurent curls his fingers in Damen's hair and tugs him back down to his neck. 

"No marks," Damen says.

"Maybe a few."

Damen moves his mouth. "Here?"

Laurent tightens his grip. And as Damen sucks bruises from his neck to his shoulder, he feels the slick pressure between his legs, gentle stimulation against and around his hole that has him wanting to move into it, closer to it. 

"You're so slow," Laurent says, even though they both know he likes it that way. 

Damen starts to press inside, just barely. It's like when he uses his mouth, but different. His cock will be different. Laurent tightens his grip, and Damen pushes in, out, in. The way they're laying, Damen's cock is against Laurent's thigh, the one that isn't up and open along Damen's arm. Laurent arches up towards him and feels the friction of it inside and out. 

Damen exhales harshly into his neck. "It's okay?"

"Keep going," Laurent says. 

He's holding Damen's head down, close, but Damen pulls back to look him in the eye. Laurent waits for him to speak and he doesn't. He only watches, eyes intent on Laurent's face, as he continues to touch him inside. Laurent doesn't know what to say when Damen looks at him like that. He watches Damen watch him as he feels fuller, feels Damen deeper. He gives him every gasp and shudder he earns with every bit of sensation. 

"Good?" Damen asks, finally. 

_What do you think_ , Laurent doesn't say. "Really good." His fingertips circle on Damen's scalp. "We can," he says. 

"Oh," Damen says, and not the way Laurent expects. 

"Oh?"

"I wasn't planning on….I don't think I'd last. And I'd want to spend a while, uh."

"Fucking me?"

"Getting you ready, I was going to say."

"Then get me ready, and then fuck me. I want you to."

"I don't think we should. It's—I don't want to hurt you."

It's nonsensical, Damen talking like this with two fingers in Laurent. "You won't."

"I would. You feel this?" he asks, pushing in. "It'll be more than this. A lot more. I want it to be good for you."

"And how is it supposed to be good for me if you won't do it?"

Laurent grabs his wrist to keep him from pulling his fingers out. 

"I'm not saying I _won't_. I want to," Damen says. "I really want to. It's only that we should work up to it."

"What, do this every day until you think it's enough?"

He doesn't mean it, and for a moment Damen is only exasperated, but the idea registers with both of them at once; Damen taking him this far, and then further, working him open a little more each day. 

"Not _every_ day," Damen says. "And what I was thinking was—we could get a dildo, or something." ( _Only if you want to_.)

Laurent has never thought about that, nothing at all like that, but now, with Damen's fingers inside him, he has no trouble imagining the specifics. "Oh," he says. "Yes. Yes, please." And again, " _Yes_ ," as Damen presses _just right_ inside. 

"I'd eat you open first," Damen says, "and then—"

"This," Laurent says, "and then suck me while you fuck me with the dildo, and then your cock—and you'd have to jerk off first, twice probably, so you could last—"

Damen kisses him hard, artlessly, all teeth and tongue, and Laurent reaches between them to grasp Damen's cock. He moves into it, fucking Laurent's hand, and moves his own hand in time with his hips.

"Wait," Laurent tells him, "like this—" and he nudges him over, adjusts their bodies so Damen's cock is along his. "Yeah?"

Damen is inarticulate against Laurent's lips but starts to move again, a slower back and forth; Laurent can't close his hand around both of them but can guide the motion, keep it hot and tight and close. They rock together, tangled together, and the heat is almost too much, building inside and outside. Damen is inside him, kissing him, rutting against him.

"I'm almost—"

"Me too," Laurent gasps.

Damen says his name, says it again, and again, and there are other words in with it that blur together as the heat peaks in and around him. When the room comes back into focus, Damen is languid beside him, his fingers extracted but their legs still tangled together.

Laurent stretches, studies the aches it brings. 

"I do want you to fuck me," he says. "That wasn't a heat-of-the-moment thing."

"I want that too," Damen says, carefully, and doesn't continue.

"I've never bought a sex toy before," Laurent says. Conversationally. "I assume you can offer guidance in that area."

Damen is still looking at him the same way, so Laurent leans in for a quick kiss and smooths over the line between Damen's brows with his thumb. He traces a semicircle over his temple to his cheekbone, cups his face.

"Only what we want, right? Only what we both want."

Damen's forehead relaxes, and he nods, and kisses Laurent's nose. Laurent grabs tissues to clean up what he can, then settles into Damen's arms, where it's quiet.

**Author's Note:**

> ([coda](http://doumekichikara.tumblr.com/post/135536486157/a-while-back-i-reblogged-that-things-you-said))


End file.
